


Lost Boys Like Me

by aquestlikethat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt!Sam, Visions, Wee!chesters, hurt!Dean, psychic!Sam, visions!Sam, wee!Dean, wee!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquestlikethat/pseuds/aquestlikethat
Summary: A young Sam worries about his family while they are gone on a hunt. When he starts having nightmares his worry increases. Could they be more than just nightmares? What happens if his family doesn't come back? (Sort of tag to 11x19 The Chitters)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters, (if I did there would be a severe lack of blankets in the world).   
> Warnings: blood

Sam waited. He didn’t have anything else to do. It was Thanksgiving Break so he didn’t even have school work to distract him. Dad and Dean had left for a hunt about an hour away three days ago and Sam had last heard from them just over two days ago. Dean had called to let him know that they would be hiking into the woods and probably wouldn’t have any cell reception while they were out there. Dean had assured him that it was a simple hunt. They were tracking the wendigo to its den and would move in on it while it was sleeping. He hadn’t heard from them since.   
Sam knew that tracking supernatural creatures could be a complicated task but surely it shouldn’t take this long? He was starting to get anxious. What if they never called him? What if they couldn’t? What if they were in danger, hurt and unable to get to help? Sam knew what town they had been headed toward but he had no idea where the forest they were hunting in was. And even if he did, Sam didn’t have any means of getting there besides walking, which the youngest Winchester was about ready to do.  
Sam paced the room, he tried to watch TV, he even picked up a book but he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his worry for Dean and Dad. They’ll be okay. They’re fine, they’re fine. You’re fine. Sam told himself when he gave up on reading after staring at the same sentence for five minutes. They’ll be back soon, just like always. Dean will call as soon as he can. They’re okay. The windows shook as rain began to pound down outside and Sam slipped into a restless sleep.  
~ * ~  
Sam was in a forest. The trees were dotted with snow and a biting wind blew through his thin coat, chilling him to his bones. The youngest Winchester looked around, trying to figure out where he was and how he had gotten there. Before he had time to fully take stock of his situation, Sam heard familiar voices ahead. Forgetting the dangers that could be lurking in the dark shadows the setting sun cast on the surrounding trees, Sam ran towards the voices of Dean and his father. As he neared Sam began to understand their words.   
“It will have to come back eventually,” Dad was telling Dean as the two hunters covered their tracks in the snow blanketing the ground. “When it does, we’ll be waiting for it. Make sure your flamethrower is ready. This thing isn’t going to go down without a fight.”  
Dean and their father were crouching beside what Sam realized was the entrance to a cave. This must be the wendigo’s hideout. Sam thought. He smiled as Dean tinkered with his homemade flame thrower. “It’ll never know what hit it. Bastard will be deep fried and crispy in no time.” Dad didn’t scold Dean for his colorful vocabulary like he did when Sam was around. ‘The hunt is a different place.’ Sam remembered Dean telling him. He supposed everyone who was old enough to participate was old enough to curse.  
Sam was about to step out and call to his family when the world spun. When everything stood still again, the sun had finished its decline and the forest was pitch black. There was no moon. Sam saw Dean and Dad crouched in the same place they had been before, but now both of them were shivering. Dean shifted restlessly but made no sound as the two hunters waited for their prey. Before Sam could step out of the shadows and approach his family, he heard a rustling in the trees behind him. The youngest Winchester saw a shape moving in the branches above him. The wendigo moved too fast for Sam to see but he knew it was there. A horrible realization hit him. The creature had been there the whole time, watching and waiting. Dean and their father thought they were the hunters but they were wrong. They were the prey.  
Sam tried to jump out of the shadows and warn his family that they were in danger but an invisible force held him in place. He yelled for Dean to run, to look in the trees, but Sam knew they couldn’t hear him.  
The trees shifted again and in the distance Sam heard a voice calling for help. “Dean!! Dad! Help me!!!” Sam started. The voice sounded exactly like his. Dean recognized it as well. He jumped to his feet, scanning the forest around him. With a strike of horror in his gut, Sam remembered that wendigoes could perfectly mimic human voices. They used this skill to lure their prey to them. Sam again tried to run forward and stop his brother, tell him that it was a trap, but the force continued to hold him back.  
John was talking to Dean, holding him in place by a firm grip on his wrist. “It’s not Sam. Dean listen to me, it’s not him.” Dean was fighting their father with everything he had, his instincts screaming at him to respond to the sound of his little brother’s cries.   
“De!! Help me!!” The voice screamed and Dean’s struggle increased. Sam fought to go to Dean, to tell him that he was okay. The youngest Winchester couldn’t stand being the cause of his brother’s distress, putting his family in danger by being weak and helpless.  
“Dean, hey. Calm down. It’s trying to pull you away. Sam’s not here. He’s safe, your brother is safe.” Dad said as he continued to hold onto Dean. The boy’s struggling slowed a little, his face shutting down and hunter instincts kicking in. Sam relaxed, so tired from trying to get to his brother that the invisible force was the only thing holding him up.  
Then a blood-curdling scream erupted in the distance.  
Dean took off. Their father’s grip on his wrist had relaxed when the boy seemed to calm and now did nothing to slow him down. John took off after his oldest son and Sam’s screams mixed with the wendigo’s mimicked ones as his family ran into a trap.  
Sam shot up in bed. His sleep shirt, one of Dean’s old band shirts, was soaked with sweat and clinging to his heaving chest. His whole body was shaking hard and Sam’s throat felt like he had been gargling an acid solution from his science class. Suddenly his dream came crashing back to him and Sam realized he had been calling for his big brother. But Dean wasn’t here. He was in the woods with a wendigo. And Dad. Sam reminded himself. Dad won’t let anything happen to him.  
Sam shifted in bed and glanced at the clock on the nightstand, wincing as a pounding began in his head that was in no way helped by the piercing light of the glowing numbers. He had only slept for a few hours, maybe he could manage to go back to sleep since he had no other way to pass the time waiting for his family to return. Sam looked longingly at the phone on the nightstand, willing it to ring despite the late hour, but it remained silent in the room.   
The pounding in his head was starting to grow and Sam’s vision blurred with the pain. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep but the sweat soaking his shirt was starting to make him cold and the youngest Winchester started to shiver. The movement did no favors for his aching head, each shiver wracking his body adding to the feeling of hot pokers stabbing his brain. Laying here wasn’t going to make anything better and no one was going to take care of him, he wasn’t a baby anymore, he was eight years old, so Sam pushed himself up and padded over to the small hotel bathroom. He pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink and snatched the bottle of Tylenol, struggling with the lid and finally pouring a single tablet out into his hand. Sam packed the kit back up and returned it to its place before cupping his hands under the water and swallowing the pain medication.   
The youngest Winchester headed back to his bed, snatching his duffel by the straps as he went. He dropped the large bag onto his bed and dug for the hoodie he had stolen from Dean’s duffel before his brother left. Sam pulled the over-sized piece fabric over his wet shirt and climbed back into bed, kicking his duffel onto the floor. The hoodie smelled like Dean and it was comforting, dulling the pounding in his head and the vivid memories of his dream. After taking one last glance at the phone, Sam slipped into a restless sleep.  
~~~~~~~~~~  
Sam again found himself in a forest. This time he was in a clearing. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of snow and more flakes were falling. He shivered and realized that he was no longer wearing Dean’s hoodie. Before Sam could question what was going on and how he got here noise erupted through the trees.   
“Dean please!!! Help me!!” he heard his own voice cry. But that couldn’t be him, he was right here. Sam saw a dark shape flash through the trees and he felt a sinking in his stomach, though he didn’t quite know why.   
Suddenly Dean came tearing through the forest, kicking up snow behind him and searching the woods desperately. “Dean?” Sam asked, but his brother could not hear him. In fact, Dean looked right through him and stepped to the center of the clearing. Leaves rustled above them and Sam heard his voice again, “Dean please, I’m scared. Dean where are you?” Dean tore to a tree across the clearing and Sam followed after him, desperately trying to grip his arm, to call his name, anything to let his brother know that he was here and he was okay. The youngest Winchester did not like the look of terror in his big brother’s eyes.  
While Dean continued to frantically search the trees in front of them Sam felt a tickle on the back of his neck and looked up. A pair of glowing red eyes looked down at him. He attempted to warn his brother, even though he already know that it wouldn’t do any good. And then the creature pounced.   
It moved so fast that all Sam saw was a flash of black and then it was on Dean. And then there was red, red everywhere. Dean was on the ground and this time Sam was the one screaming his brother’s name. Another flash of red came from behind the youngest Winchester and everything erupted into light and yelling. The wendigo gave a high, piercing scream and fell into the snow covered in flames. Sam heard someone else calling Dean’s name and he turned to see his father crouched over his brother. The snow around Dean was red and Sam felt like throwing up. There was so much blood. Could Dean even still be alive? Sam cut that line of thinking off fast. Dean had to be alive. He had to. But his father looked more panicked than Sam had ever seen him.  
Sam crouched down in the snow next to his family and watched his brother struggle to breathe. Tears stung his eyes and he called out one last time, “Dean”.  
His brother looked up and met his gaze for the first time, “S’mmy?” he whispered. And then his eyes rolled back in his head.   
“Dean!” Dad yelled.   
“Dean!”  
~~~~~~~~~~  
“Dean!”  
Sam shot up in bed. The sound of the wendigo’s scream was ringing in his ears and mixing with his father’s shouts. What had he been dreaming? The images were fading, becoming blurry and indistinct in his memory. His whole head was ringing. No. The phone, the phone was ringing.   
Sam scrambled to lift the receiver with his shaking hands. “Dean?” he asked, hope filling his voice.   
“Sam?” a voice on the other line answered. It was not Dean’s voice. Disappointment filled Sam’s body. “Sam are you there?”  
“Pastor Jim?” Sam asked, squinting at the wall. His head was really hurting now and he wondered if he could take another Tylenol yet. What time had he taken the last one?  
“Sam I need you to listen carefully. I just got off the phone with your father. Your brother has been injured.”  
Sam’s whole world narrowed to those words. And suddenly his dream came crashing back, ramping up the pounding in his head until he could barely see, could barely breathe, could barely think. Your brother has been injured.   
Pastor Jim kept talking but Sam was barely aware of his words, only catching bits of what he was saying. “… how bad … hospital … pack … coming … be there … take you … two hours…” There was a long silence and then, “It’s going to be okay Sam, everything is going to be okay.”  
But how could it? How could anything be okay? Dean was hurt. Dean was hurt and Sam was here, more than an hour away from him. He could die before Sam got there.   
The pounding in Sam’s head reached a new extreme until it was all he could think. He felt himself drop the phone and fall back onto the bed. Sam closed his eyes and tried to keep breathing and with every stab of pain one word played in his head, “Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry this took so long. Life has been busy with Christmas and all of that. And today was my first day of classes for this semester but I had a break and I wanted to get this up for you guys! Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

When Sam came to again the pounding in his head had reached a new level. Sam tried to remember why his head hurt but all he could come up with were vague images of snow and red. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head, attempting to take deep breaths. It wasn’t until he head his name being called that he realized the pounding wasn’t just in his head. Someone was knocking on the door. Sam sat up as fast as his aching head would allow and reached for the knife under his pillow. The youngest Winchester shakily grabbed the hilt and stood, shivering when his bare feet touched the cool floor.   
On the way to the door he grabbed one of the rickety chairs from the small motel table. At eight years old, Sam was still too short to see through the peephole without help but he knew better than to open the door blind.  
Climbing on his makeshift step-stool, Sam peered out of the hole in the door and gripped his knife tighter. The boy almost fell off when he saw the person on the other side. Pastor Jim. Everything suddenly came back to him and Sam found himself having trouble breathing.   
“Sam?!” Pastor Jim called again through the door. “Son, are you okay?”  
Sam struggled down from the chair, knocking it over and dropping his knife in the process, and unlocked the door tears streaming down his face. His dream. Dean. Pastor Jim’s call. Your brother has been injured. It was all too much and the tears continued to fall despite Sam’s recent mantra that crying was for babies.  
Pastor Jim opened the door and was barely inside when he gasped, “My God Sam, what has happened?” Sam was shocked to hear those words from the pastor, having been ready to ask him the same question. At Sam’s lack of answer Pastor Jim continued, “Your shirt is covered in blood.”  
Sam looked down at himself as Pastor Jim closed and locked the door before approaching him. He was in fact covered in blood. The dark red stain ran down the front of his shirt and Sam, noticed for the first time that his hands were flaked with it as well. When he lifted them to his face in shock the boy could feel half dried flakes there as well, dripping down his chin and leading up to his –  
“Did you have a nosebleed?” Jim asked, now kneeling in front of him, concern written on his face.  
Sam stared at him then his hands before shrugging and shaking his head, wincing as the movement sent an extra spike of pain through his skull.   
“Sam?” The pastor asked again, his voice softer.   
“I-I don’t remember.” Sam croaked surprised at how rough his throat felt. Jim raised his eyebrows and the youngest Winchester elaborated. “I had a nightmare, and my head hurt, and then you called and I guess I kind of … passed out?” He finished.   
Jim’s eyes widened in concern and he moved to set Sam’s chair back on its feet before gently pushing Sam towards it. “Come here, sit down.”  
Sam sat in the chair as Pastor Jim walked towards the room’s small bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes, then we’ll pack and be on our way.”  
At the pastor’s words Sam again looked at the blood staining his brother’s hoodie. His breath caught in his throat. Blood. Dean’s hoodie. Dean lying in the snow covered in blood.  
Sam’s breathing began to pick up again and the motel room blurred out of focus around him. The youngest Winchester blinked the spots from his eyes at the sound of Jim’s worried voice in front of him. Slowly his senses returned to him and Sam felt the man’s hands on his shoulders, saw his face bent to look at Sam’s, the worry in his voice reflected in his eyes.   
“How bad?” Sam gasped, realizing he still didn’t know what condition his brother was in.  
“What?” Pastor Jim asked, not following the jump in Sam’s thought process.   
“Dean. How-how bad is he hurt? Is he …?” Sam trailed off, needing Jim to say something, anything, to fill the silence and cover up the word that was floating through Sam’s head paired with an image of Dean lying in snow the color of blood. “Pastor Jim.” Sam pleaded through his teeth, not caring how desperate and childish and scared he sounded because right now he was all of those things and he just needed to know that his big brother was okay.   
“I don’t know.”   
Sam opened his mouth to say – he didn’t know what, but he needed a better answer than that. But before he came up with anything Jim continued, “Sam, I don’t know. You know how your father is. All he said was that Dean was hurt, he was hightailing it to the hospital, and to go pick you up and bring you. That’s all I know. Now, I need you to try to calm down for me okay? I know this is scary but the sooner we get there the better. Can you take a deep breath?” Jim paused, waiting for some sign of understanding from Sam. The youngest Winchester nodded and then winced at the movement before taking a deep, though shaky, breath. “Good. Good, Sam. Now, let’s get you cleaned up and then we can go okay?”  
Sam frantically shook his head, the pain there increasing with each violent movement. “No! You said the sooner we get there the better. We have to go now!” He argued.  
“Sam, I can’t take you into a hospital looking like this, they will want to check you out and that will only delay us getting to Dean.” Jim tried to reason.  
Sam started breathing hard again, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the images of Dean bleeding out in the snow that greeted him behind his eyelids. Finally he managed to gasp out, “I can’t – Dean’s hoodie – I saw him, the blood. Can – can we just go?” He opened his eyes and saw that the pastor was again readying to refuse his plea. “Please, Pastor Jim. I-I need to see him, please don’t make me change.”  
The family friend looked at Sam with sympathy in his eyes before answering, “Sam, I’ve at least got to get the blood off your face. It’ll do us no good to show up at the hospital with your face covered in blood. That won’t get us to Dean faster.” He reasoned again, hoping the repetition would get his point across to the frantic boy.  
Jim saw that his logic was working on Sam and gave him a few minutes to process what he had said before continuing. “Tell you what, you don’t have to change clothes the hoodie is dark enough that the blood isn’t really noticeable. Let’s clean your face, pack up the room, and then we’ll hightail it out of here. What do you say?” The pastor knew how stubborn Sam was, he was a Winchester after all, so he knew how important it was to allow the boy a say in their plan of action.  
After a moment Sam nodded then held his hand out, motioning for Jim to give his the wet washcloth he had brought to wipe Sam’s face. “Alright, But I can get cleaned up while you pack up the room. Gets us out faster.” Jim smiled at the boy, already a gifted problem-solver, and passed him the cloth.   
Sam stood and nearly ran to the bathroom and Jim hurried to start packing. He knew better than to make a Winchester wait for him, especially when the health of another Winchester was involved.  
Sam scrubbed his face as fast as he could, not caring that his rough movements caused his skin to sting and turn red. The youngest Winchester focused on getting cleans and getting on the road as fast as possible, fighting to keep images of Dean hurt, dying, and calling for him out of his head. He was finished in under two minutes.  
When Sam stepped out of the bathroom he found Pastor Jim pulling the zipper of his duffel bag closed. Jim looked up and asked, “Did I miss anything?”  
Sam gave a quick glance around the room before shaking his head, not really caring if Jim had or not. Stuff was just stuff, Sam wanted to get to Dean.  
Jim hefted the duffel onto his shoulder and the two of them marched to the door and out into the cold. Sam tried to take deep breaths and remind himself that he was on the way to Dean. “Dad would call if something happened.” He murmured to himself as Pastor Jim walking into the office to check them out of the motel. “He would call.” Sam repeated and pretended that his voice didn’t shake.  
Another minute and the two hunters were pulling away from the motel and speeding toward the hospital.  
They didn’t look back so neither of them noticed the figure who came out of the room and stood in the doorway watching them and holding Sam’s knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Hope you guys liked it, I love getting feedback! I'll try not to take so long with the next chapter. I hope you are all having a magnificent 2017 so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. More to come.


End file.
